“Delicious,” I say, my voice heavy and thick with desire. “I can't get enough of you.”
“God, Carter,” she says, her breathing shallow and ragged.
I fall to my knees before her, sliding her skirt up and putting her thigh over my shoulder. Leaning forward, I plunge my tongue into her, savoring every last drop, needing more and more. It's intoxicating and heady and fuels the desire that's burning inside of me. I run my tongue over her clit, drawing a strong shudder from her before I slide my tongue back inside of her, licking her up and down,
“Fuck,” she gasps.
She has her head thrown back, her red curls spilling down behind her. Her eyes are closed, and her lips are parted. Reaching up, I cup her breast and pinch the nipple roughly. She cries out, her body trembling as she grips the back of my head, pushing me deeper into her.
A choked gasp erupts from her mouth as her whole body tightens up. She lets out a long, low moan, and then she explodes. She practically screams my name as her orgasm crashes down on her, and I push my tongue even deeper, feeling her pussy spasm around it.
I can't get enough of the feel and taste of her, and continue licking until she pushes me away, a look of bliss on her face.
“It's so sensitive right now,” she stutters, her breath even more ragged than before. “Too much of a good thing, Carter.”
I laugh and get to my feet and lean into her, kissing her with passion. I lift her up and set her on the stool, and she spreads her thighs for me as I step forward. She takes the condom and unrolls it down the length of my cock, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Fuck me, Carter,” she says, her voice husky. “I need you inside of me. I need you to fuck me.”
She wraps her arms around the back of my neck and wraps her legs around my waist, crying out as I thrust my hips, driving my hard cock deep into her. My body is shaking, my desire for her overwhelming, as I start to pound myself into her with reckless abandon.
“You are so fucking tight,” I moan as I thrust myself into her again.
Darby throws her head back, and calls my name as I drive my cock into her again and again. She's holding onto me tight, thrashing wildly against me as I fuck her, her eyes filled with desire and need. Her breath explodes from her mouth in bursts, and her body tightens up around me. She squeezes my cock with the muscles inside of her, making her even tighter, and I almost lose it right there.
Clamping onto my shoulders, Darby leans back until she's almost perpendicular with me.
“Carter,” she gasps. “I'm going to come again.”
“Then come for me, Darby,” I say. “Right now.”
And as if she was waiting for my permission, she does. With a long, shuddering cry, her body tightens up, and goes limp an instant later. She is trembling as I continue to drive my cock into her, plunging myself into her warmest depths. She's caught up in the throes of passion, her orgasm rocking her from head to toe.
All at once, I feel my body lock up tight. I throw my head back and cry out as I start to shudder. A moment later, my cock starts to pulse, filling the condom inside of her. Darby stops moving and grips the base of my prick. My breathing is ragged and when I look down, Darby has a pleased look on her face. As I look at her, I'm overwhelmed by the need to touch her. To feel her near me. Rolling the condom off and chucking it in a nearby bin, I grab her by the hips and pull her closer to me, kissing her hard and deep.
A moment later, I step back and try to catch my breath. “Fuck, Darby,” I say. “You’re amazing. That was incredible.”
She gives me a wink. “Yeah, I know.”
She takes me by the hand and leads me out of her studio. I follow along behind her, my head and body buzzing with sheer ecstasy. Being with Darby fulfills me in ways I could never adequately express. Being with her feels like the missing piece to some puzzle inside of me. I can’t deny or ignore how I feel about her.
“Want to take a shower with me?” she asks.
I kiss her again, unable to get enough of her. “I'd love to.”
“How do you feel about staying the night?”
“I think I can pencil you into my schedule.”
She slaps me playfully on the chest and laughs. “Jerk.”
I follow her into the large bathroom, taking her in as she strips out of her skirt. I look her up and down, drinking in every last inch of her, desire burning inside of me again.
My heart swells as I look at her for another reason. We seem to be falling back into our old habits again. It almost feels like no time has passed at all, and no wounds were suffered. Almost. I know it's not true, and we both bear the scars to prove it.
But, being with her again, seeing her smile, it makes me think that yeah, even though we've still got some work to do to close the book on the past, and write a new future together,
Darby is finally mine, and I am hers. Just like we were supposed to be, all along.
Chapter Fourteen
Darby
“So, what's new in your life?”
I look across the table at Mason as he munches away on the appetizer in front of him. He chases it with a long swig from his glass of scotch. He seems a bit irritated and on edge today. I don't know what it is, probably something at work, but it makes me want to end the evening early.
Though, if I'm being honest, I want to end it early anyway, so I can spend some time with Carter.
We've been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and I can see that things are already becoming serious between us. Despite all my resistance, we seem to be picking up where we left things a decade ago. It still scares me, but not nearly as much as it did before. Carter is a good man. I can see it. I know it. He's got a good heart and if there is one thing that's abundantly clear, it's that he cares for me. Deeply.
“Not a lot,” I say. “The usual.”
He nods and pops another morsel into his mouth, washing it down with more scotch. His eyes bore into me and I feel like a defendant, on trial, with Mason cross-examining me. It makes me feel defensive and on edge myself. I don't like the scrutiny he's putting me under.
“Seeing anybody?”
“I'm not going out with your flunky, Mason,” I say and laugh. “We talked about that last time.”
I take a sip of my wine as he leans back in his seat and stares at me. He drains the rest of his glass and signals the waitress for another. He's silent the entire time we wait for his refill. He just sits there, looking at me. The feeling of discomfort I'm feeling is suddenly coupled with an oppressive and ominous feeling as well.
“And why not?” he finally asks.
“Not interested,” I say. “Do I need a reason to not want to be set up?”
He shrugs. “I suppose not,” he says. “I just thought you might be looking for some company.”
“I'm not,” I say defensively.
A small, malicious smirk touches his lips as he leans down, and pulls something out of his briefcase. He tosses it across the table – it's one of the tabloids. Because, of course it is. It opens up when it hits, and I find myself staring at a picture of myself and Carter on the front page. My stomach drops into my shoes and my throat goes suddenly dry. We've been so careful about not being seen by the paparazzi when we're out. How did this happen?
Somehow, despite how careful we've been, some asshole with a camera snapped a shot of us holding hands in Chelsea, looking entirely comfortable together – which we are. The headline, in big, bold letters screams, “Who Is The Mystery Woman In Carter Bishop's Life?”
“Care to explain this to me?” Mason asks.
I shrug. “I don't think I can,” I say. “It's not a very flattering photo.”
“Funny,” he says. “What are you doing with him?”
I take a sip of my wine and look at my brother evenly. “I wasn't aware I needed to clear my social calendar with you.”
He sighs and drains his glass again, signaling for yet another. His face is dark with anger and his eyes are narrowed, glowing with irritatio
n. His distaste for Carter has always been obvious to me but what I see in Mason's face right now borders on pure hatred.
“He's a piece of crap, Darby,” he says. “You can do better than this asshole, wannabe gangster.”
“You don't know the first thing about him, Mason,” I clap back. “You never have, and because you prefer sitting up there in your ivory fucking tower, looking down your nose at everybody, you never will.”
“Hey, I'm okay with that,” he says. “I prefer to not associate with criminals.”
I scoff. “He's not a criminal.”
“You don't know him, Darby,” he says. “You're still blinded by your schoolgirl crush on him. You don't know the first thing about who he actually is.”
“Actually, I do know him,” I say, my voice growing heated. “I know him very well. It's you that doesn't, Mason. It's you who's blinded by your own insecurity and hatred.”
“Insecurity?” he chuckles. “Right. Good one.”
“You've never gotten over the fact that he kept you from getting your ass kicked at St. Aggie's,” I seethe. “That he made you feel like less of a man or something. In case you didn't realize it, he was trying to help your stupid ass, Mason. Not only that, but you can't seem to get over the fact that unlike you, Carter grew up without privilege or advantage. He’s truly self-made, and he's worked his ass off for everything he has. He's worked hard for it. And for whatever reason, that kills you.”
“Wow,” he says. “That sounds like a little speech Carter himself would have written up. I just can't believe my own sister is parroting that bullshit back to me.”
“Face it, Mason,” I say. “You and I were lucky. We had an aunt and uncle who were able to provide us every luxury, and privilege we could ever want or hope for. We never went without and were given admittance into some prestigious schools because our family had money. Because of our family name.
Carter didn't have any of that. He was in that home until he was eighteen, and then –”
“And then he went and signed on to the Pops Ramazzo crime syndicate,” he says.
“You have no idea what you're talking about,” I say, though my voice lacks conviction simply because I don't know what I'm talking about when it comes to Pops Ramazzo.
“Murder. Arson. Rape. Kidnapping. Drugs. Human trafficking,” Mason says. “That's just a little bit of what Pops Ramazzo was into back in the day. Just a little bit of what your boyfriend was into.”
“That's bullshit,” I say.
“No, that's real shit,” he replies. “And that's just the tip of the iceberg.”
I become keenly aware of all the people around the restaurant turning to look at us. I guess our conversation had gotten more heated – and louder – than I realized. Uncomfortable beneath all the scrutiny, I clear my throat and try to not let it get to me. Try to push away that oppressive feeling of being watched – and judged.
I lower my voice, but don't lessen the heat. “If you took the time to get to know him –”
“I don't want to get to know him!” Mason yells, apparently not caring who hears us. “He's a piece of street trash. And personally speaking, I don't want my sister associating with him. Not only is it bad for you, it's going to reflect poorly on me.”
“Keep your voice down, Mason,” I snap. “Or I'm leaving right now.”
He gives me a dismissive wave and takes another pull of his drink.
“This isn't about you,” I say. “My relationships have nothing to do with you.”
“Darby, I'm a U.S. Attorney and I have my eyes on a bigger political office,” he says, pitching his voice low. “Your relationships impact me and my electability. In this day and age, nothing is off limits. If there is even the barest whiff of impropriety, my chances are dead. And I'd say my sister running around with a known criminal would set off a whiff or two of impropriety.”
I laugh. “Those aren't my problems,” I say. “And there is nothing wrong with Carter. He's a respectable businessman.”
“The hell he is, Darby,” he snaps. “You don't know what I do.”
I take a drink of my wine and shake my head. It's always about Mason. Always has been. And I'm sick and tired of it, to be honest. The more I sit there and listen to him, the more irritated I get. I have a right to live my life the way I see fit. I also have the right to date who I want to. And fall in love with who I want to fall in love with. It's not for Mason to say no to any of that. This is my life, damn it.
Still, I can't deny that listening to Mason sets a small worm of worry burrowing through me. It scares me, simply because I don't know for sure, who Pops is, or was. I don't know what he's done. Which, in turn, makes me realize I don't know what Carter has done in his life.
“And what is it you think you know?” I ask slowly.
“How about we start with Pops Ramazzo,” he says. “Your boyfriend's mentor and father figure?”
“What about him?”
“I would be willing to bet, Mr. Respectable Businessman didn't tell you that Ramazzo used to be the head of a crime family all, did he?”
“Actually, he did,” I say. “He told me that a long time ago.”
“I gave you the general overview of what the Ramazzo syndicate was suspected of, but specifically, did he tell you his beloved Pops is personally implicated in at least half a dozen murders?” he asks. “And that your boy Carter knew about them all? Rumor is, he even participated in at least one of them, though I suspect he had a hand in more than that.”
The knots in my stomach constrict and I feel my heart begin to pound. I have a hard time believing anything Mason is saying. That's not the Carter I know. But, then I think back to him telling me that he doesn't know what Pops did back in the day – and it sends a bolt of fear coursing through me.
But none of that means he committed any crimes, or was an accessory to murder. In fact, what Mason is saying directly contradicts what Carter has told me – if he never knew whether or not Pops murdered anybody, how could he have participated in one of the murders?
Unless Carter is lying about everything.
I push the thought away roughly. I like to think I have a pretty good bullshit detector and can tell when people are feeding me lies. I've never gotten that sense with Carter. Not once.
So, why is that worm of doubt still making its way through me?
I've always known Carter has a temper. That's no secret. Nor is it any secret that he's been in his fair share of fights. But murder? Carter? It doesn't sound like the man I know. Not even close.
That cold voice of logic that resides in the back of my mind – the voice that's been oddly silent since Carter and I started seeing each other again – chooses this moment to speak up. It reminds me that I didn't see Carter for a decade. That I didn't know what he was doing in that time. Nor, did I know what he really did while we were together. He's always had his secrets. Lots and lots of secrets.
“He didn't tell you any of that, did he?” Mason presses. “Don't bother answering, I can see it on your face.”
“Doesn't mean anything you're saying is true,” I say. “And if you're so sure he's guilty, why haven't charges ever been brought? Why has he never been arrested?”
“Because these people are good, Darby. They're downright fucking evil,” he says. “They know how to cover their tracks. That's what mob bosses do.”
“Oh, so now you're saying Carter's a mob boss?”
“Not what I said,” he replies smoothly. “But, he was the right-hand man for one. It stands to reason that he'd be the one taking out the trash for his boss. Think about it.”
That cold, dark voice is whispering in the back of my head again. Its voice is insistent. It's casting doubts over everything I know – or think I know. I push it away ruthlessly and refuse to listen to it anymore. None of this is true. It can't be. The man my brother is describing is not the man I know.
“Let's move to today then, if that doesn't convince you, my darling sister,” he says. “My office perso
nally has several open investigations into Bishop Financial. Insider trading for one. Racketeering. Fraud. I can't substantiate it at this point, but there is a rumor making the rounds that a whistleblower who was going to provide evidence of Carter's crimes mysteriously turned up dead.”
I shake my head. “This is bullshit, Mason,” I say, desperate to believe my own words. “This is nothing more than you trying to drive a wedge between me and somebody you don't approve of.”
“I wish it were that simple, Darby,” he says. “I really wish it were.”
“No, you don't,” I snap. “This wouldn't be the first time you interfered in my relationship with Carter.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks, though I can tell by the look on his face he knows exactly what I'm talking about.
“He told me all about you threatening him,” I say. “Using the threat of sending Pops to prison to get Carter to stop seeing me ten years ago.”
“That's bullshit,” Mason says.
“He told me all of it, Mason,” I say, my voice cold and low. “Every last detail of what you said to him and what you threatened him with, to make him stop seeing me.”
He drains the last of his drink and gives thought to ordering another, but apparently decides against it. He sets the empty down, and picks up his glass of water, taking a long swallow of it. I know what he's doing. He's stalling. Trying to buy some time for himself to think. I've seen him do it all too often when he's caught in a lie.
“Fine,” he says, apparently deciding that enough time has passed that he can abandon the lie. “I did do that. I admit it. But, I did it because I didn't want you mixed up with those people. I wanted you far away from those murdering scumbags as possible. I did it for you. It was in your best interests, Darby. You had your whole life ahead of you, and the last thing you needed was to get mixed up in that kind of bullshit.”
I drain the last of my wine and slam the glass down on the table with enough force that it draws the attention of the people around us again. I turn and glare at the people gawking at me, no longer caring that they're staring. Mason has my blood up and I'm going to make my point. Screw these rich, snooty bastards.
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